


i'll be your shelter, i'll be your storm

by raggirare



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raggirare/pseuds/raggirare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kisses are the best kind of medicine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be your shelter, i'll be your storm

**Author's Note:**

> Present for [crockertier](http://crockertier.tumblr.com/) for dragging me into Daitora hell and keeping me under (but I'm not complaining at all).

It was easy enough to get away from his team. 

It wasn’t even entirely under the pretence of a lie, either, so Taketora felt considerably less guilty about leaving his team’s side and promising to catch up with them (and his sister) afterwards to watch the finals match. Leaving his bag and his jacket in Akane’s care, he took only his towel with him as he went in search of a bathroom. Not the closest one (he could see people regularly coming and going from it), and instead opted for one further away from what was very soon to be the main attraction (it was guaranteed to be much quieter).

He wasn’t entirely wrong. There were some people here and there lingering in the halls, but they were members of the public rather than members of other school teams gathering to watch the final four play-off. They didn’t bother the spiker, so he didn’t bother them, and instead he ducked into a bathroom, relieved to find it empty.

Taketora dumped his towel on the counter by the basin and leaned forwards over it to get a better look at his face in the not-quite-clean mirror. It didn’t look nearly as bad as it felt, and it felt even worse when he let his fingers actually touch the bruised and swollen side of his face. A hiss pulled through his clenched teeth, face flinching away from his own hand, and he let his fingers fall to the faucet to splash cold water on the skin in an attempt to ease the pain a little.

It was with his face down and his eyes closed that he heard the door swing open and then shut, but he didn’t lift his head. He didn’t look when he heard the sound of something shifting along the tiled floor, or even when a hand came to rest on his back, slender fingertips gently pressing into his muscles down one side of his spine.

“How’s it look?” An instinctual response in the Nekoma spiker nearly had him jumping and attacking at the sound of the others voice, but he managed to keep himself from giving in to instinct, and instead only slowly lifts his head, the tap still running and water dripping from his face. Taketora’s left eye remained closed, his right open only just enough to see the Nohebi captain’s face in a blur of water and unfocused vision. Silence filled the space between them until it was broken by a sigh and Daishou reached for the abandoned towel.

One of Tora’s hands found the faucet and turned the water off and he shifted his weight to lean against the edge of the basin, eyes closed completely against the feeling of his soft sports towel pressing against his face with just barely enough pressure to dry away the water. He only opened his eyes again when the towel stopped and there was a press against his cheek at the very edge of the bruising.

“Sorry,” Daishou murmured against skin, sounding significantly more genuine (to Taketora, at least) than he had during the match. The other spiker only rolled his eyes, though, and let the corners of his lips tug up.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused, turning his head to press a kiss to the corner of the elder’s mouth in return. “You tricked me.”

The tip of the captain’s tongue appeared, a teasing lick over Tora’s lips. “You’re the one who fell for it, you idiot.” One of his hands lifted to cup the younger’s cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “But you’re my idiot, so I guess it’s okay.”

Even as Taketora rolled his eyes again, he found himself leaning into the touch against his cheek, and the smile pulling wider across his lips was something he didn’t bother to try and stop. He stayed like that even as Daishou retrieved something from his pocket, and the only movement that followed was his eyes closing again as the captain held a cold compress against the bruising to try and ease the swelling.

It was a relaxing fifteen minutes. Silence punctuated by the occasional brush of lips against lips and the hand never leaving his face. It was longer than Tora would have liked, honestly, but he was thankful in the same moment, because it gave him the time he needed to reflect on the match he had just played and his own performance so that he wouldn’t be distracted by them while watching Itachiyama and Fukurodani play.

When the compress was removed, he found himself reluctant to budge, even going so far as to put his own hand behind Daishou’s to keep it against his cheek. It earned him a chuckle, and he opened his eyes to the smiling face in front of him, tongue poking at a comment of how _cute_ he could be (if there was one thing that Taketora was adamant he would never be, it was _cute_ ).

“Come on, you lazy cat,” Daishou insisted, tugging away his hand and stepping away. “The match will have started by now. You should go cheer your friends on.”

Finally shifting, the second year responded with a hum. “Are you staying to watch?” he asked, collecting his towel and hanging it over his shoulder. “Or are you guys heading home?”

“We’re staying to watch. It’s bound to be an entertaining match.”

“Better get going then.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” A hand shoved at Tora’s shoulder (gently) to get him moving in the direction of the door, though Daishou remained where he was beside the basins. “I’ll call you tonight, huh?”

“Message me, first,” Tora said as he moved the sign away from the door (Daishou had made good use of the flat feet at the end of the tall signboard’s legs to keep the door from being able to be moved, least someone walk in and catch them). “Team has a thing. I’d rather not coming out about our whole thing in front of Kuroo this side of graduation.”

“His or yours?”

“Both.”

Daishou’s warm laugh echoed off of the walls of the bathroom, and he only laughed again as Taketora flipped him off. “You’re supposed to be polite to your boyfriend,” he teased. “Making obscene gestures at me like that. So rude.”

“Says the one who spiked a ball in his boyfriend’s face.”

“Sorry, I was under the impression you _liked_ having balls in your face.”

“Suguru, I swear to God—“ Another laugh interrupted Taketora, cutting him off, and he simply settled on flipping him off again before he returned to opening the door to let himself out.

Only to pause again at the sound of his name.

“Tora. You played so well.” The distance between them was closed again, and Taketora let the door swing shut as a hand found his unharmed cheek and lips found his again. “Really… I’m so, so proud of you.”

There was a temptation to let his head stay in Daishou’s hand again, but the spiker found it in himself to lift his head away before he could become too comfortable. “I’m just glad I don’t have to play you again,” Taketora gave one final tease, one final brush of lips, before he pulled away entirely and finally left the bathroom.

When he finally reunited with his team, he dropped into a seat next to his sister in time for the starting to serve to fly across the net, it was without much ceremony or notice, with only a glance from Kuroo and a greeting from Akane (and a glance across the stadium to where he could see Daishou wrestling one of his teammates out of their seats to sit down himself).


End file.
